Reach for Tomorrow (54 page)

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Authors: Rita Bradshaw

Tags: #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: Reach for Tomorrow
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When he was a child it had been a trick of his, which had driven his poor mother half mad with frustration at times, to shut his eyes and make his face blank if he was being told something he didn’t want to hear. He’d been able to keep it up through any amount of carry on, even when his backside was being walloped, and for a moment the situation he was facing made Davey want to resort to that same childish defence. The last thing he wanted was to go for a ride in her damn motor car! By, did she know what she was doing? Did she have any idea of the way she was rubbing his nose in it?
 
‘Davey?’
 
She was looking at him, and now he caught a thread of pleading in her voice at the same time as a fleeting shadow in her eyes, gone in the next moment, told him she wasn’t so sure of herself as she would like him to believe. But it would do neither of them any good to go for a drive, to prolong the agony, Rosie must know that? He had made his arrangements, he had said his goodbyes, and this was the last call before he was on his way, and nothing - and no one - could change that. She
had
to understand; and he hadn’t hidden behind any subterfuge, now, had he? He’d made himself plain the last time, he knew he had. No, this had to end as if with the cut of the surgeon’s scalpel - quickly, cleanly and without hesitation.
 
And then, in repudiation of all he had been thinking, he heard himself say, ‘A short drive, then, if that fits in with your plans. I . . . I’ve things to do.’
 
Rosie made an almost imperceptible inclination of her head and again the regal lady was back with the nature of her acquiescence, and it grated like barbed wire on his taut nerves. He was barmy, clean barmy, to go with her, but how could he not?
How could he not?
The words were a groan from deep within where the essence of his love burnt, and he found it hurt to look at her. Her pale creamy skin, the dark eyes with their long silky lashes - she was beauty and warmth and bright tomorrows, and from this day on he knew he would never see her again. He wouldn’t come back, they both knew it. The gulf was too wide; whatever happened in the future it was too wide.
 
‘I’ll just get my coat.’
 
In contrast to his feverish thoughts her voice was cool and low, and the need that was upon him to touch her, to feel her skin beneath his fingers even if it was just the side of her face or the palm of her hand, kept his hands clenched in his pockets and his voice gruff as he said, ‘Aye, all right.’
 
She must think him a loutish brute. The thought did nothing to take the frown from his face. And perhaps he was; certainly compared to Zachariah he was. Flora had told him how Rosie’s husband had educated her, broadening her mind and her vision and giving her an understanding of the classics and the arts. What did he know about such things? Nowt. Double nowt. How could he imagine she would ever have considered spending the rest of her life with a man like him anyway? It wasn’t until that second that he realized how jealous, how bitterly jealous he was of a dead man, and the knowledge caused him to grind his teeth before walking out into the hall where Rosie was pulling on her gloves.
 
‘Shall we go?’ She turned to smile brightly at him and for a moment he could have hit her. She made him feel like a worm, a nothing. She needed him so little and he needed her so much. And he knew now - the last grindingly slow weeks of misery and longing providing all the confirmation he could have asked for - that if things had been different, if she had been the old Rosie living in Forcer Road, he would have worked down the mine for the rest of his life if he had her to come home to in the evenings. Aye, he would. And counted himself fortunate.
 
There had been times in the last weeks when he had questioned himself, agonizing over whether he was doing the right thing. The right thing! He laughed inwardly, harsh, bitter laughter. But all his deliberations, his searching to find an answer to the unanswerable, had brought him back to one inescapable conclusion. If he had asked her to marry him he would have become nothing more than a lackey. She had this house, money in the bank - she was as well set-up as any of the toffs in Ryhope Road or Barnes Park. Zachariah had made sure she would want for nothing till the day she died. And what would he have said when the bairn got older and asked him what he did for a living? No, it was impossible. He couldn’t stay with her and she couldn’t go with him. End of story.
 
Once they were seated in the car Davey felt acutely uncomfortable, partly because of the bittersweet sensation of sitting so closely at Rosie’s side and smelling the fragrant scent of her - a perfume which had nothing to do with a bottle but was all to do with a gracious way of living that started the day with a scented bath and finished with fresh linen and a clean bed - but also due to the fact that he had never been driven by a woman before, or a man either for that matter. He found it was not enjoyable, and on the second occasion that Rosie had to swerve slightly to avoid a car coming in the opposite direction which was taking most of the road, he said, in an effort at conversation, ‘They are talking about putting road markings in some of the larger towns now, have you heard? Apparently it’s proved successful in London in lowering accidents. There’s over fourteen people killed every day now.’
 
‘Really.’ The brief reply made it evident that if he continued with the small talk he would be talking to himself, and after one glance at Rosie’s face Davey allowed the previous uneasy silence to reign again, telling himself that the next word spoken would be uttered by Rosie or they wouldn’t speak at all.
 
He was annoyed. Rosie had noticed his glance and understood the meaning behind it. But it couldn’t be helped. She was normally a good driver, she knew she was, but today she felt so keyed up she was having to concentrate with all her might. He would understand when they got there. Pray God, oh,
pray God
he would understand. And if he didn’t? If all her frantic manoeuvrings, and the palaver that had gone with them that had nearly driven her mad at times, if it was all for nothing - what then? For a second her stomach hit rock bottom and she had to clutch the wheel so tightly her knuckles showed white. No, no, she wouldn’t think of that. This had to work, it had to. She would consider nothing less. She couldn’t lose him twice in one lifetime. God wouldn’t be so cruel.
 
The route Rosie had taken soon took them out of Roker and towards Southwick, the rows of streets and houses giving way to the tender green of the countryside, where the thickly fringed fields and hedged lanes caused Davey to wind down his window and breathe in the fresh air. When they passed Southwick he still made no comment and neither did Rosie, but as the car trundled along narrow mud roads, passing the odd gated field enclosing grazing cattle and sheep, he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. What had she said exactly? he asked himself as the minutes ticked by and the strain of having her so close made him begin to sweat. It would help her if she went for a ride with him? That’d been it, hadn’t it? How the hell did coming out here help her? By, it was bonny though. The sky was bluer, the air sweeter . . . The drab stale existence in the towns might belong to another world when you were breathing in lungfuls of this stuff.
 
‘You must think it very strange that I’ve asked you to ride with me today.’ As Rosie spoke she turned the little car off the winding lane on which they were travelling and along a bumpy track that opened almost immediately into a wide farmyard.
 
It wasn’t a prosperous farm by the look of it, Davey thought, before he turned to her and said, ‘Not strange, surprising maybe.’ And then, ‘Look, should we be in here? I mean someone might object.’
 
‘I know the owners.’
 
Again her voice was very cool and even and he didn’t have the intuition to know it was strain, not composure, that made it so.
 
Rosie brought the car to a halt on the cobbles which, if the cow pats gently steaming in the May afternoon were anything to go by, had recently seen a herd of bovines pass through. ‘Come and have a look round.’
 
She smiled at him but that shadow was back in her eyes and it caused him to say, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ before he realized the stupidity of the question.
 
But Rosie didn’t treat it as stupid. She twisted in her seat to face him fully and then she became quite still, the stillness seeming to fill the car with a tenseness that became unbearable. He swallowed deeply, and then he swallowed again, but still he couldn’t bring himself to speak although he didn’t quite know why.
 
‘The farm is a nice size.’ Her voice was quiet, but with an underlying throb of emotion that made him stretch his neck and make to ease the collar of his shirt before he checked the action. In the far distance he could see a golden meadow, bright with a shimmering yellow haze of buttercups, and the delicate smell of May blossom vied with the more pungent aroma left by the cows.
 
‘But as you can see it has been terribly run down. To get it back on its feet it will need to employ at least a dozen men or so, and even then it will take time to turn things round, but it can be done. And there are some definite benefits, one of which is that there is a row of six farm cottages just behind the rear of the farmhouse garden, and although they need a good deal of renovation they are habitable now. Of course they aren’t furnished, but then most people would like to bring their own possessions anyway, don’t you think?’
 
Was she saying she had asked about a job for him? Was that it? He was going to be offered the job of cowhand or something similar? Well, he had had enough of well-meaning females poking their noses into his affairs, the last twelve months or so had taught him that if nothing else. He would sooner starve. Aye, or even go back into that hell underground than have her to thank for his employment.
 
‘Lambing time is finished,’ Rosie continued after a pause, ‘but with the livestock being shut inside for a good part of the winter they’re not as healthy as they could be. I know a little about the basics now from what I learnt from Mick and Sally when--’
 
‘Rosie!’ Her name was snapped into the space between them and he saw her jump, but he didn’t apologize, neither did he alter his tone when he said, ‘Turn the car round.’
 
‘What?’ Rosie’s hands were clutching at the front of her coat and she must have realized this, because in the next instant they were lowered sharply to her lap, and now there was a fierce ring to her voice as she said, ‘No, I won’t. I need to talk to you.’
 
‘You won’t?’
 
‘Not until I’ve talked to you.’
 
‘Then you’ll drive home alone.’
 
‘
Davey.
’
 
Oh, this was all going wrong, terribly wrong, and then, as though to emphasize the point, Rosie saw two border collies bound round the corner of the farmyard from the direction of the cottages and barns situated behind it. Within a second or two three burly farmworkers followed, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw who they were. These men were unknown to Davey.
 
‘All right, we’ll go, but just wait here a moment.’ She spoke urgently, her voice low and rapid, and then to Davey’s surprise she was out of the car and approaching the men, careless of the muck and filth. He couldn’t hear what was being said but when they nodded at him, doffing their caps before turning and retracing their footsteps, he sat stock still.
 
‘Will you come into the house for a moment? Please, Davey?’ When Rosie reached the car again all her previous defiance was gone, and to Davey’s eyes she suddenly seemed disturbingly vulnerable. It was the same demeanour he had seen at the hospital that day, and it cut through his aggressiveness like a knife through butter. ‘There’s no one there and I know it will be all right. Please?’
 
‘Aye, yes, if you want.’ His voice was still brusque, but now it was because of the weakness that was constraining him to agree to the request. But two minutes in the farmhouse and then they were on their way - he’d make sure of that. Whatever she had set up for him with the owners of the place - and if those men’s attitudes were anything to go by it wasn’t something at the bottom rung of the ladder, which made it worse somehow - he wasn’t having any of it.
 
He got out of the car slowly and followed her across the cobbles. There was a four-foot-high drystone wall enclosing what should have been some twenty feet of lawned garden directly in front of the large stone dwelling, but the waist-high nettles and thistles hid any grass. Rosie opened the old wooden gate that was propped on one hinge and passed through onto the narrow path, and now Davey walked to where she was waiting for him in front of the big oak door. He had noticed one of the three tall chimneystacks was leaning drunkenly to one side, and it looked as though a few slates were missing from the roof, but he made no comment on this.
 
The door was unlocked, and when Rosie lifted the latch and it swung open, a large stone-flagged hall was revealed with a massive square of coconut matting on which to wipe dirty feet.
 
‘It’s a big place.’ There was a tremor in her voice now and it checked his impatience when she continued, ‘There’s a kitchen and scullery at the back of the house, and two washhouses along with the dairy. On this side’ - she waved her hand to the left of them - ‘is a dining room and a study, and this’ - she moved forward and opened the first door to their right - ‘is the sitting room.’
 

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